Sunday, November 4, 2007

Twilight of the Ice Nymphs

They met in Mandragora
in the unfading light of the sun
and fell ever constant


obsession crept in--
hunger for the unhaveable--
they longed to kiss
in soft candlelight,
to wade hand-in-hand
in a gelid blue sea,
conceal love
in some dark corner
far removed from curious eyes.
But the eye of the sun
burned endless.

In moonless Mandragora
love is only a game,
satyrs at play
in sunpressed skin.
Love holds no mystery--
vision transparent
nothing unknown--

every flawed soul revealed
in the light, in the light,
no secret concealed
in the merciless light
of sunsurfeit Mandragora.

(Image: Dawn at Maggiore, Turner)

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